One Day We'll Be Happy With Each Other
by But You Can Call Me Willow
Summary: You know your life sucks when your friend can tell how good your sex life is by whether or not you're wearing shoes. Quinntana friendship, with sides of Quick and Fuinn. Formerly known as "The Grass in Front of Jacob Ben Israel's House"
1. In Front of Jacob Ben Israel's House

**This was originally meant to be Quick, but it slipped into ****Quinntana friendship without me really meaning it to. **

**Inspired by a prompt from ****breeutiful****: "Bare Feet", and containing the quote "****It's funny how the Earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to."**

**Set before Season 1. **

**Disclaimer: As if I own Glee.**

She places her bare feet on the floor and tries to pretend the night's events haven't happened. That she's not sitting naked next to _Noah Puckerman_ and her boyfriend isn't downstairs somewhere. _Fuck. _

She stands, slowly, carefully, and replaces her clothes, smoothing them like she didn't just lose her virginity.

_What if someone finds out? _asks a bitch-face voice in her head. _Finn will break up with you. Your popularity will drop away like dead flies._

_Shut up, _Quinn tells the voice firmly, _and stop using insect comparisons._

A glance at the clock tells her that she's been asleep for maybe two hours, and the sounds of a dying party can be heard from downstairs.

She can only find one shoe so she walks down stairs in without them, beaming and stumbling and chugging what's left of her wine cooler.

"Hey, Q!" Santana exclaims. "You totally missed Brittany taking off her shirt and puking all over Karofsky."

Maybe it's because she's hungover and drunk at the same time, maybe it's because she just slept with her boyfriend's best friend or maybe it's because Karofsky's a dick who deserved it, but for some reason this is the funniest thing she's heard in a long time.

"Oh my God, Q!" Santana cries as Quinn doubles over and can barely breathe due to the hysterical laughter pouring from her mouth.

"Where've you been, anyway?" she continues. "Finn called you, like, twelve times. That guy is way too clingy."

"Yeah," Quinn gasps, ignoring the question. "Clingy."

Santana giggles, pauses, then burps. "Where's Britt gone?"

"I dunno. Making out with someone under a table?"

"Yeah," Santana sniggers, as if these are the wisest words she's ever heard. "Are you sober? 'Cos I need a ride home."

Quinn nods because she doesn't want to walk home and she's not that drunk, anyway.

"You're not even old enough to drive," Santana chides as she staggers out the front door. "You're not even sober. You're such a liar." Quinn sighs and guides her down the steps then stumbles and falls down herself.

"Oh my God! Q, are you okay? Oh my God!" _The worst thing about drunk Santana,_ Quinn decided, _is that she won't stop crying once she starts. _

"I'm fine, Santana. I'm just a bit hungover."

"Why are you hungover? Why've you been sleeping?" It's funny how the Earth never opens up and swallows you when you want it to.

"I wasn't feeling well, San. I bunked on the washing machine." Santana gives her that look like she'll sort this out when she's not drunk but doesn't say a word.

It takes a good five minutes wandering around the cars outside Jacob Ben-Israel's house before they realise they don't have keys to any of them.

"I never liked that whiney little bitchface," Santana sighs as she flops on the front lawn. "I can't believe he ditched us without a car."

"That's my boyfriend you're talking about," Quinn protests half-heartedly, because she is pretty pissed, but it's not like she has a right to complain. She just slept with _Puck,_ for fuck's sake.

"Let's just spend the night here," Santana suggests, and Quinn can't think of a different suggestion.

They spread out giggling and shivering until Santana places her head on Quinn's shoulder and winds her feet around her.

Shriek of laughter.

Jerk upright suddenly.

"What's your issue, San?" Quinn murmurs, because she's tired and hungover and just wants to sleep.

"_Holy fuck, blonde virgin Quinn Fabray_! You just had sex!"

"I- did you- I didn't-"

"Don't give that shit to me! You lost your V-Card to some bitch – _that wasn't your boyfriend_, BTW- in the back room of Jacob Ben-Israel's house! _And you didn't tell me!_"

"You wouldn't get it!"

And suddenly, in Santana's eyes, things just got serious.

"Quinn, baby, you just had sex and didn't tell the boy you introduce your parents to. You've entered my world now."

"Look, Santana, I don't want to talk about it."

"Who was he? Was he good? Was he big?"

"_Santana!"_

"I'm serious, Q! Who'd you fuck?"

"How'd you even know?"

San laughs like Quinn just asked her why Ryan Gosling was attractive.

"You're not wearing any shoes."

Quinn wriggles her exposed feet and sighs.

"Puck."

There's a pause, then; "At least you were good, then. He wouldn't have taken off your shoes if you weren't."

"I don't want to know how you know that."

"Well this one time Brittany and me-"

" _I said I didn't want to know!"_ Santana sniggers in a way that makes Quinn think she's secretly enjoying judging others sex life, before lying down again.

"Come here, Q. I'm tired and you're a good pillow."

"Yeah," sighed Quinn, sinking into the grass. "Good night."

"We _are _talking about this when we're sober-"

"Shh, Santana."


	2. This Movie Isn't Even Good

**I didn't mean to write this, this story was meant to be a one-shot. But I've decided to continue it, set through all the three seasons. Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or War of the Worlds, which is what Quinn and Santana are supposed to be watching.**

"You know that Tom Cruise dies at the end, right?"

"Yeah, San," Quinn replies, not looking up from painting her peach coloured toenails. "Everyone knows that. I can't stay the whole way through anyway; Finn's coming over to mine in an hour."

"Have you done the deed yet?" Santana asks, and Quinn's hand jerks so much her nail polish smudges across half of her foot.

"_Santana._"

"Drop the good girl act, Fabray. I was there after you got it on with Puck."

Quinn inwardly groans, and wonders how long that drunken mistake is going to haunt her. She should've known that confessing to Santana was a terrible idea; _oh yeah, so was having sex with your boyfriend's best friend_.

"I haven't." Quinn says firmly, ignoring Santana's witch-like cackle.

"I don't know what you're so scared of, it's like riding a bike. Except it's not a bike, it's a guy, unless that's not the way you swing, but anyway Q, you've already had sex with Puckerman so I don't see the problem with getting it on with someone who you're actually in a relationship with."

Quinn zones out for the most part of that statement, because she's too caught up by what Santana's done to her childhood.

"I can't believe you just compared sex to riding a bike."

"Really? That's what you got from that?" Quinn sniggers and flops down on Santana's bed, wondering whether she should scrub her foot now or before she leaves.

"You should probably clean your foot," Santana suggests, and Quinn scowls because she swears Santana's a fucking psychic.

Santana lets a grin spread across her face.

"I did the psychic thing, didn't I?"

"I hate you," she snaps, and vanishes into Santana's bathroom.

She's almost done washing the nail polish off when Santana calls "Dakota Fanning just got kidnapped by a three-legged alien!" Quinn groans, listening to the screams of the blonde girl echoing from the TV.

When she returns with a newly spotless foot, Santana has claimed the bed for her own and most of Quinn's stuff lies spread out on the floor.

Grumbling, Quinn retrieves her nail polish, comparing the bottle colour to the dull shade of cream now residing on her foot.

"Paint over it with this," Santana instructs her, passing her a red shade of polish.

"Move over," Quinn sighs, but Santana just grins. _Bitch_, Quinn thinks, as she settles on the floor and begins to fix her toenails.

There's a long pause while Santana stares at the screen and Quinn inspects her new shiny layer.

It's weird how their talks go. It's not really talking, it's insulting each other's sex life and then sitting in angry silence until one of them makes peace (and when she says 'one' she means 'Lucy Quinn Fabray').

"You know Rachel Berry uploaded a new video on MySpace this morning?" Quinn asks, with a hint of a smirk in her voice.

"Yeah," Santana sneers. "I saw your comment. Nice."

Quinn nods, graciously accepting what counts as a compliment.

"I'm going home," she says. And just like that, she gets up and disappears, not saying what they both know.

_Bye, Q._

_See you._

_Coming over tomorrow?_

_Yeah._

_See you then._

_You will._


End file.
